I honestly cannot imagine how this felt. Now we get cranky if people don’t answer our e-mails — try to imagine sending someone off to God Knows Where knowing you might never see them again, you might never even get a letter.
Postcard to Miss M. Judd, 2 Clifton Road, Folkstone.
August 5, 1914:
Dear Min. I am so glad you are having a nice time. Isn’t the war dreadful? My brother and his chum have volunteered for the front, starting this morning, so I don’t feel very bright over it. I’m just going to see them off. Much love, Lucy.
This postcard Lucy-to-Min was found stuffed in our basement like insulation. Against? It hadn’t stopped the next war from happening, other brothers to send off to die. We unearthed this message, written to Heather’s great-grandmother, while searching for answers to other, slightly more current questions about her uncle’s estate. He died a year ago in Vancouver, at 82.
I was on my way to sleep the other night when Heather read these words to me. They had the effect of wiping clean petty concerns just like that: who cares, I…
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